


even our nostalgia is not the same as it used to be

by majesdane



Category: Skins (UK)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-17
Updated: 2010-02-17
Packaged: 2017-12-06 09:34:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/734191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/majesdane/pseuds/majesdane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>If she had just known, what it would be like afterward.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	even our nostalgia is not the same as it used to be

  
you've made the air flammable. these walls are just paper. and blood is gasoline.  
you shouldn't have come here, made of fireworks, if you didn't want me to play with fire.

\-- _pleasefindthis_

 

 

 

She tries to put it out of her mind.

It's not that simple though, just forcing herself to forget. No matter how hard she tries, she can't get the memories out of her head. She's washed her sheets a dozen times by now, and still they smell foreign to her; they smell like the perfume neither she nor Emily has ever used. They smell like wild flowers, soft and sharp all at once. When she lies in bed, pulling the sheets and blankets up all around her, despite the heavy heat of summer she can smell the wild flowers, sweet and overwhelming, and she wonders if Emily will smell them too.

Maybe, she thinks, she'll just throw them away. Just put them in the fucking rubbish and be done with it. But Emily would notice, that's the problem; Emily always notices the small things like this. She would ask and Naomi would have to answer -- so on and so forth until the truth came tumbling out, and where would they end up, after that? No. It's easier to just keep washing them; maybe if she can scrub hard enough she can wash the smell of Sophia away.

If she had just known, what it would be like afterward --

 

;;

 

Emily asks Naomi what her last two weeks were like, when Emily was kept on lock-down in the Fitch house with swine flu and Naomi spent her days moping around her own house, bored out of her mind or going down to have a drink with Cook at the pub or waiting for night so she could sneak into Emily's room and cuddle up against her for a bit (which had stopped after the first week, once Jenna had cottoned on).

It was uneventful, Naomi says, not looking at Emily.

I missed you, Emily says, as if they'd been apart for years. She rolls on top of Naomi and kisses her lazily, brushing the hair out of Naomi's eyes and moving her mouth up to press kisses against Naomi's cheeks, nose, forehead. Naomi's hands settle on the small of Emily's back, eyes flickering closed from the softness of Emily's kisses and the warmth of her body, pressed flush against Naomi's own.

(And of course it's ruined then, when Emily slips away and pulls Naomi on top of her; Naomi remembers the way Sophia let herself be pressed to the mattress, the way her eyes fluttered closed when Naomi's fingers traced along the inch of bare skin on her exposed midriff where her shirt ended and her trousers began.)

(She forces those feelings back down, forces the _images_ back down, kissing Emily just a bit harder, with just a bit more desperation.)

Emily sighs and grips Naomi's shoulders, nails digging in and leaving tiny crescent shaped red marks.

(It's all wrong.)

 

;;

 

A week goes by.

It gets easier, to forget.

The smell still lingers.

 

;;

 

They sit on the hill, lounging on the grass in the warm afternoon sun. It's been raining for the last four days; it was nice, to stay inside, to curl up against Emily and spend the hours drifting in and out of sleep, making love slowly, the muscles in Emily's calves flexing when Naomi's hands flit up the length of them, her nipples hardening when Naomi covers Emily's breasts with her palms. They'd gotten over the initial frantic pacing that always comes right after they see each other after being apart; once their hearts and hands of the clocks stopped going quite so fast, things levelled out and it became okay again, to take things nice and slow.

Emily smiles at her, through the sunlight, eyes squinting, and Naomi feels her breath hitch in her throat. It's only for a second (a moment later she's breathing normally again and it doesn't feel like the world is ending), but it's enough -- enough of a reminder that things are really not okay. Everything is just an illusion. Fine is how she wants things to be, how Emily _thinks_ things are, but it couldn't be the truth. And when Emily's hand closes around Naomi's, head nestled in the crook between Naomi's shoulder and neck, Naomi wants to rip herself away.

(But she can't. There is something in her that won't let her tell the truth, even though she wants to. She really fucking wants to.)

You're lovely, Emily mumbles, right up against Naomi's ear before she kisses it, just once. Her hand slips up just so under Naomi's skirt, fingers brushing along the inside of her thigh. You're really fucking lovely.

I'm like lightning, Naomi says, curling into Emily, grabbing at her top with both hands and balling the material into her fits. With her face pressed against Emily's shoulder, she can smell soap and washing powder, the kind that Naomi's mum gave them back in June, a week after Naomi moved out of the house.

Yeah, Emily says, kissing Naomi's forehead, hands up and brushing the hair away from Naomi's neck before bending her head and kissing the space of skin there too, right where Naomi's neck and shoulders meet, right along her collar bone. Yeah you are. You brought me to life.

(It shouldn't make Naomi feel like crying.)

(But it does.)

 

;;

 

You've been quiet lately, Emily says, tracing her fingers around Naomi's belly button, her head on Naomi's chest, hair tickling Naomi's nose. You okay, Naoms?

She'd started calling Naomi that last month, on a hazy July mid-afternoon, when they were sat in the park and sharing a cone of strawberry ice cream. It dripped onto Naomi's blouse, melting too fast for them to eat it, and Emily'd laughed at the face Naomi had made and smeared a bit on the tip of Naomi's nose with a wide smile.Naomi'd rolled her eyes, but it didn't stop her from leaning in to press a kiss to the corner of Emily's mouth. Emily's smile had changed then, had somehow become softer and sweeter and she'd called Naomi 'Naoms,' and Naomi's heart had felt like it was going to burst.

(It feels like that now, but for different reasons.)

Just thinking about college, Naomi replies absently, stroking Emily's hair. It's starting soon.

I'm not thinking about college at all, Emily tells her. I just want it to be over, you know? I want us to be travelling now. It'll be nice, won't it, she says, kissing the space between Naomi's breasts. It'll be nice when we can get out of here. Do what we want, when we want. We won't give a fuck about what anyone else thinks. Not anymore.

Yeah, Naomi says.

(I feel trapped, is what she'd said. And it had felt like being trapped then, as if she was stuck in quicksand and slowly being sucked under. As if she was drowning. The open day had felt like being able to breathe again, breaking through to the surface. Sophia had understood that.

Sophia had understood everything, and maybe that was the whole point, why and how everything had gotten so completely fucked up. Sophia had understood and Naomi just wanted, just for a second, to not be a better person -- the better person that Emily had made her. She wanted not to be trapped, not to feel like she was drowning. To feel in control, for once. And for a moment, it had worked.

An hour later she'd thrown up, feeling so sick with herself that she almost couldn't stand it. Almost.)

But she didn't feel trapped any longer, and that was the problem. Lying here in bed with Emily, it felt like flying more than drowning. And that made everything so much worse, because really, what _had_ she been so afraid of? At the time it'd felt like the walls were closing in on her, like there was no way out -- but now she can't remember the reason _why_ , only that she _did_ feel like that. She'd been scared and that --

That was the worst truth of them all.

Worse even, than all the lies.

 

;;

 

I love you, Naomi says. It's the only truth that comes easy anymore. I love you.

I know, Emily smiles, and squeezes Naomi's hand a bit tighter. kisses her just too gently. I love you too.

You wouldn't if you knew, Naomi thinks, and forces a smile. You wouldn't if I was honest.

 

;;

 

They go to Bath, for a weekend holiday, and for a while, Naomi forgets.

She forgets about Bristol, forgets about Sophia, forgets about the way she sometimes feels like bursting into tears or the way she can't seem to sleep properly at all, because she always feels too on edge. She forgets all about that one stupid open day, where her whole world changed without her even trying or wanting it to. And she forgets to tell the truth.

Emily points out places to a tiny group of American tourists, bright and eager. Naomi watches her and wonders just how she does it, staying so happy all the time. She's always been like this, even when Naomi used to hurt her -- make her cry, even, and thought of that makes her throat close up -- always bouncing right back again; it's enough to give Naomi hope.

Maybe she could tell Emily.

(It would destroy them both.)

 

;;

 

On the train ride home, Emily reaches over and closes her hand over Naomi's, squeezing it gently with a soft sigh. Naomi wants to scream and cry because it feels like _everything_ has been ruined now. Nothing is just hers and Emily's now, not like it used to be. And she wants to tell Emily so badly, because this guilt is weighing down on her and she realises, now, that _this_ is what it feels like to be trapped.

(She'll stay trapped, she think, if that's what it takes. It's for the best; she squeezes Emily's hand a little bit harder, to keep herself grounded.)

 

;;

 

I'm not going to leave, Emily says that evening, when they kicked off the blankets because it's still too fucking hot.

What? Naomi's distracted by Emily tracing circles on her upper thigh.

When college starts, I mean, Emily clarifies, and her fingers dance a little higher up. I know mum and Katie think I should stay at home more -- focus on my coursework and all that -- but I don't want to. I can't think when I'm not around you, you know? And it'd be madness to try.

Naomi sighs, tucking a strand of candy-red hair behind Emily's ear. I never want you to leave. Please don't, she says, after a moment, because there it is again, that feeling as if everything is just spinning out of control. She feels like she's walking along the edge of a precipice.

(She can't step back.)

I won't, I won't, Emily laughs, and kisses her with a smile.


End file.
